It's not something you hear much about anymore: once, people more commonly pitched fits, threw fits, had fits, staged fits. Hissy fits. Crying fits. (Now rants and tantrums.) A fit of rage. A fit of pique. A fit of temper. Blustery and ephemeral. Unpredictable and dramatic. Fits, whether in human nature
"I'd be way more content if I didn't always have to take myself with me wherever I go. I'm walking around in a fog, with my hands out, feeling blindly. I stand outside of the action, watching, all alone. I am alone." Harper Collins, 2012 That's Morris in
One imagines these are the kind of stories that erupt from a phrase overheard at a restaurant or eavesdropped from a park bench. Cormorant Books, 2012 These are not the kinds of stories that come complete with detailed descriptions and backgrounds; it`s hard to imagine Cary Fagan filling
"If we’re lucky, art can help us through our wolfishness."* And it does, indeed, help Virginia get through her wolfishness. As does her sister, Vanessa. And the painting of Bloomsberry. What's this? A children's book about Virginia Woolf? But we all know how THAT story ends. And, yet,
The epigraph to Ru is the reader's first clue that this novel embraces complexity. 2009; Random House Canada, 2012 (English) The reader learns that the word, in French, means a small stream, literally (and, figuratively, a flow -- of tears, blood or memory). Whereas, in Vietnamese, 'ru' means
